Fixtures
by milkcustard
Summary: It's his oasis, far away from the mounting pressures of a national swim team that works him to near-death; far from a university looking to shape him into the corporate zombie he doesn't want to be. It's his place where once a week, he can hide away from the world, from obligation, from his troubles, and just breathe. (Sousuke, Makoto, and a coffee shop. Rating may change.)
1. Chapter 1

**Fixtures**

**Note**: Free! Iwatobi Swim Club and Eternal Summer (c) Kyo-Ani.

* * *

There's a quaint little coffee shop that insists it's a tea house in Ebisu called Mintea. It's on a backstreet halfway between the station and Sousuke's acupuncturist's office.

Sousuke would have never found the place had it not been for Satoshi, the de facto leader of his class's (very) small mythology and classic literature study group. For some reason, Satoshi insisted at least one meeting be held there once every week on Tuesdays. Why, Sousuke isn't sure, but he's got a suspicion the place's atmosphere—and cheap brews—have something to do with it.

It's calming and cozy, light-years away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Only soft instrumental music plays. And aside from the occasional whistle of kettles and whir of coffee machines, it's leagues quieter than his university's library. For starters, he could actually hear himself think.

Sousuke likes it, particularly because no one he knows outside the study group knows about it—not even Rin. It's his oasis, far away from the mounting pressures of a national swim team that works him to near-death; far from a university looking to shape him into the corporate zombie he doesn't want to be. It's his place where once a week, he can hide away from the world, from obligation, from his troubles, and just breathe.

So it's only natural he's a little resistant to the idea of change.

* * *

As luck would have it, he walks by the shop one Wednesday—not the day his group's supposed to meet—and he sneaks a glimpse in through the window as he passes. He doesn't expect to see anything he hasn't already, like the rustic décor, the barista who always dyes her hair all sorts of colors or the other one who shrinks and radiates with shyness.

Everything is as it should be. Everything except for _him_—the rather tall one, with the broad shoulders and sharp angles and cowlicked brown hair.

Sousuke stops dead in his tracks and stares through the glass. He swears he's seen this guy before. Seven years ago and over six hundred kilometers away, and not in a city of over thirteen million people. Iwatobi. Simpler and quieter Iwatobi.

He's a little bigger now—if he's even who he thinks it is—a giant in such a small, cramped place, yet he moves nimbly between the tables and people like a pro. Sousuke watches as he balances a tray on the flat of one hand and pours some brew into a customer's mug expertly with the other. Then's straightening up and smiling a sun-warm smile that reaches up into his eyes and suddenly, there's no doubt about it: it's him.

Makoto Tachibana.

One of the baristas is crouching by the shop's outdoor chalkboard sign, writing on it in pink bubbly letters to match her hair and, presumably, her personality. "Hello! Welcome to Mintea!" She's so short, Sousuke almost missed her. And he tells himself it's not because of the familiar face inside.

Sousuke bites his tongue in his mouth, looking between her and Tachibana.

She seems to catch on, and smiles and looks inside the shop as well. Thankfully, Tachibana is long gone, whisked off further into the shop. "Does something catch your eye?"

No, definitely not.

Without giving her an answer, Sousuke leaves, posthaste.

* * *

Less than a week later, Satoshi informs the group their meetings are now to be held on Wednesdays instead of Tuesdays.

A minor change that changes everything.

Sousuke considers ditching the next meeting or the group entirely at that point. But an upcoming exam kills that thought, and before he can come up with some kind of excuse to avoid it, Wednesday rolls around and he's ducking into his favorite corner of Mintea and hanging his jacket to join his group.

No more than five minutes after sitting down, Tachibana shows up to take the group's order, pen and pad ready. Sousuke stares hard at the open page of his textbook, hoping nothing about what he does or how he looks gives way to who he is, or that at the very least, Tachibana would be too preoccupied with jotting down stuff that he'd miss him entirely.

This is _Sousuke's_ sanctuary, _his_ quiet space, and he can't very well have disruptions like this and—

"Yamazaki-kun?"

And of course Tachibana recognizes him and has the gall to sound stunned. Fuck.

Shoulders tensing, Sousuke peels his eyes away from the story of Hyacinth he's read dozens of times over and looks up. His gaze meets green and for a brief unnerving moment, he's exposed and forced to glance away. For his own sake.

"Noon chai, with light cinnamon," is all he says, his voice rumbly.

A long, quiet moment passes before he hears the scratch of a pen against paper, and an all-too-soft, "I'll get that right out to you."

He ignores the disappointment in Tachibana's voice and focuses on the sounds of his retreating footsteps instead.

It's quiet at the table as soon as he's gone, like he was never there to begin with, until Satoshi looks between him and the towering figure at work behind the counter.

"You know him, Yamazaki?"

Sousuke takes a while to respond, but when he does, it's with a faint, "no, not really."

It's true.

* * *

Activity back at the table returns to its usual level, until Tachibana returns later with their drinks, thanks them for being so patient, and hands them their orders with practiced and careful perfection. He hands Sousuke his drink last, his gaze lingering a lot longer than anyone might deem comfortable.

"Please enjoy."

Sousuke waits until Tachibana's off to tend to a salary man in the corner before bringing the cup up to his lips. At best, the noon chai has been just above passable here at Mintea. He samples it, lets the flavor swish around in his mouth.

Not bad.

* * *

Word doesn't get back to anyone on the team; no one on campus knows. The world still turns. Nothing's changed.

So it won't be so bad.

With a deep intake of breath, Sousuke pushes the door and enters the café, making a beeline for his favorite spot in the corner. This time, there's no study group awaiting him so they can compare notes on Hero and Leander and their place in art history.

The baristas, Tachibana included, all bow to him in greeting and leave him alone, allowing him the much-needed time and space to remove his jacket, sling his bag over the back of his favorite seat and slump down into it, long limbs stretching, without interruption.

Sousuke breathes out, slow and deep. He can handle this.

He turns toward the counter and waves a barista over.

Tachibana takes his order that day: noon chai, light on the cinnamon, and a biscotti. He doesn't ask him why he's there or anything else, really. Just makes him his drink and brings it over and leaves the order receipt down on the table unassuming between Bulfinch's Mythology and a notebook, and leaves him be for the next two hours.

It's not so bad.

* * *

The following week, the same thing happens: Sousuke enters, the bell above the door chimes, the baristas greet him—and he wonders, idly, if they're the only employees this place has—and he proceeds to his corner where he loses himself in either his studies or his thoughts for a very peaceful two hours.

This pattern continues for the next five weeks, uninterrupted.

Since the third week, right around the time Sousuke had glared daggers into the shy barista for drowning his chai with cinnamon, Tachibana became the primary handler of his orders. A win, since his noon chai is by far the best out of the Wednesday crew. Though Sousuke won't ever tell him that.

Because he doesn't speak to him.

This fact barely registers to Sousuke until a month and a half have passed and there's a change in his beloved routine. It's not earth-shattering, but to someone who swims with the current instead of against it, it pretty much is.

It happens right after Sousuke sits down in his special, designated corner. Tachibana approaches him without heed, a piping-hot cup and saucer of noon chai in his hands and a smile on his face, as warm as it is disarming.

Sousuke freezes then remembers he has to say _something_, except his throat tightens and he thinks he might be choking on a breath, yet all he can do is dumbly reach for his wallet.

"There's no need," Tachibana insists, his head bowing coyly, making his square-framed glasses slide down the bridge of his slender nose. "We've set up a tab for you."

Sousuke's voice finally returns and before he knows what he's doing, he says, "This is assuming I'm actually going to come back."

The look on Tachibana's face is a cross between ashamed and shocked, and just the slightest bit disappointed. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

Something in Sousuke's heart jumps. He can't help the way the right side of his mouth quirks upwards, just barely, on its own. "Just kidding."

He's rewarded with the sight of one flustered and blushing Tachibana setting his drink down and sputtering something that sounds like '_thank you very much, please come again'_. He hurries back to work. Not a single drop of the pink drink spilled.

Pleased, Sousuke's mouth spreads out into a full-blown smile. Or smirk. Whichever it is, it's his first in weeks. It stays there, or it feels like it stays there, for the better part of three hours—the longest he's remained—until a movement out the corner of his eye distracts him.

Tachibana's by the door, his apron's off, and he's now in a thin brown jacket and waving 'bye' to his co-workers. "See you tomorrow," he calls out to them with a wave.

"Good luck," one calls back.

Sousuke flicks a glance his way, watching Tachibana through the shop glass as he sadly drops his hand and disappears down the street in the direction of the train station, the smile gone from his eyes.

Good luck?

It's none of his business and he shouldn't even think twice about it. But he does wonder just what it is out there that Tachibana's heading to.

Then there's a twitch at his shoulder, and Sousuke turns briskly away from the window and buries his nose into his book, deciding that Tachibana's vulnerabilities are his and his alone.

To Sousuke, he doesn't exist outside of this shop.

* * *

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	2. Chapter 2

Before Sousuke knows it, it's November.

Winter is around the corner. It's the season for flushed cheeks, scarves, and thicker coats. In the world of swimming, it's a false break. While intense physical training is reduced to just a few short laps per week, coaches take advantage of the downtime in their own unique ways. As a result, strength- and psychological-training and performance reviews are squeezed in and for the ill-prepared, they're just as brutal as six kilometer swims, if not more.

November is also when Satoshi decides that club meetings are cancelled, indefinitely. He claims it's for the group's benefit, to better prepare them for the exam season and to free up their time for studying. When the fresh bouquets of flowers stop showing up at Mintea, Sousuke suspects something else.

Oh well. It's not as if he ever intended to stop coming to the café. The people, the food, the sights and smells—_everything's_ become a fixture in his weekly routine. Like Rin snapping his goggles, Sousuke's sojourns to Mintea are a habit.

Heaven to build, hell to break.

* * *

It's a day like any other in Mintea, which means the noon chai is tasty and hot, the noise is minimal, and Sousuke's left to his own devices. Mmm. Perfect.

He's studying, his papers and books spread out over the small wooden table before him. Most of them are pictures and article printouts on specifics of Roman patron gods, old maps of Sparta and Greece, texts on Etruscan myths…

In some kind of admittedly dorky way, he loves it, all of it. It's easy for him to get lost in the strange works and tales passed down from eons ago, from thousands of miles away, and to forget everything that's bothering him here and now.

So when there's a looming shadow darkening the white pages of his book and a gentle warmth surging at his back, Sousuke jumps with a start. Only slightly, his brain insists. He enjoys the feel of it, like a warm salve over aching muscle, and that alarms him.

Sousuke glances up at the source. It's Tachibana.

He's bent over slightly, near his shoulder, uncomfortably close, his gaze glued onto the open book on Sousuke's table, his eyebrows lifted high above the rim of his glasses. "Is that the Artemis Temple?"

It's only a few moments later, when he feels himself actually blink, that Sousuke realizes he's been staring.

Tachibana does too, and blushes as he backs away. "Oh, I'm sorry! That was rude of me. I shouldn't be looking over your shoulder like that. I—"

"It's the Pantheon in Rome," Sousuke says coolly. And before he can think to stop himself, he plucks up another book from his pile—this one on Ancient Mediterranean architecture—and flips to the page in question for a better shot of the structure.

"Wow," Tachibana remarks, impressed. "Must be a nice place to visit."

It's more than just nice, Sousuke wants to argue. It's a two thousand year old work of art that still stands. He can wax poetic about it, spew out little details and trivia till he's blue in the face.

_Did you know the Reinaissance Painter Raphael is buried there? Did you also know there is an oculus in the center of the dome? And there is a drainage system on the floor directly below it that gathers rainwater?_

Yet, Sousuke can't bring himself to say any of that. He can only peer down at the book and murmur, "Must be."

"You mean you've never been?"

Sousuke shakes his head. He's always wanted to.

"Maybe someday you will," Tachibana says with a smile as he sets down his drink, and Sousuke can't help but believe him, no matter how foolish the idea sounds.

Tachibana comes back later, at the start of Sousuke's last hour, with another cup of noon chai.

Sousuke makes a face and instinctively leans back in protest. Two's pushing it. Three is too much, even for a caffeine chugger like himself.

Tachibana insists. "You yawned a bit ago," he says, as if that explains everything.

And maybe it does. Did he yawn? It's not impossible. Translating things and remembering dates and trying not get confused by numerous names ending in –_mus_ and –_ides_ can be tiresome. He's kind of dizzy from it all, actually.

"And, um, I'm trying to improve my baking but I think I made too many, so, here. On the house." Tachibana presents him with a cookie. It's misshapen and a little dark on the edges with a tri-color frosting: red, white, and green, in that order. The flag of Italy, presumably.

Sousuke looks at it like he expects it to bear fangs and strike.

"It's not that bad, I promise," Tachibana says around a small laugh, shyly rubbing at his cheek.

Refusing a gift is taboo, he knows as much from all of his mother's lectures and scolding, but the hopeful, imploring look in Tachibana's eyes tug at the strings of his heart, and Sousuke's not sure what to do anymore.

Realistically, he can burn off the calories of at least two of these cookies in less than an hour at the aquatic center or on a treadmill, which nulls the excuse that he's in training. And unlike Rin, he doesn't mind the taste of sweets and baked goods.

And he went through the trouble of making them...

With a small grunt, Sousuke concedes. "Sure, fine." He pauses, tries not to look too hard at Tachibana who's practically bouncing in place with joy, and tacks on a simple, "thank you."

Expecting things to be done with that, Sousuke looks down at his book, only to look up again a moment later. Tachibana's still there, expectant and coy. "…what?"

"Um, I need to know what you think of it so I can go work on the next batch." He tilts his head, grimacing slightly through his smile. "So…"

Convinced he's caught in some kind of inescapable trap, Sousuke levels a long and wary look on Tachibana. Then, shrugging inwardly, he takes a small bite of the cookie.

And he stops and chews, biting into the rest of it, savoring every chunk of the cookie before he gives an assessment, well aware that Tachibana is watching his every move and waiting for some kind of reaction like his very life depends on it.

Done, Sousuke dabs at his lips with a napkin, swipes crumbs off his shirt, and says, "it's fine. If you want, I can take a small bag to go."

Tachibana beams, absolutely elated, then hurries behind the counter, unaware that Sousuke just lied through his teeth.

The cookie was not fine.

It was delicious.

* * *

Riding the Hibiya subway line the next evening seems to rid Sousuke of every lingering positive thought he has, Italy cookies and coffee shops included. It's crowded. People bump into him. A municipal worker gets him really bad against his shoulder—it flares up with pain and the man doesn't even apologize. Sousuke shoots him a nasty glare for his efforts.

The acupuncture and temperature therapy haven't been working as well as they should lately. He's going to need another shot soon, and maybe even physical therapy or, worse, sur—

"He's tall. But not like the other one."

"But he's still hot!"

"Yukiko, _ssh_! He might hear you."

Uncomfortably close to his bubble of personal space are a gaggle of school girls squealing and giggling amongst themselves. It's nothing unusual or worthy of his attention, that is, until he hears the unmistakable click of a phone's camera and more shushed giggles from the girls.

Sousuke turns, preparing to give Yukiko and her friends more of what he gave the municipal worker. They're not even looking at him. Curious, he follows their line of vision and sees what's got them so amused.

It's almost laughable.

How in the world does he keep finding him?

Tachibana's there, standing with his hands tucked into the pockets of a dark green winter jacket, face partially covered by a frayed red scarf—no glasses, no apron, his broad shoulders in an undecided state of discomfort and drooping. He's still despite the shake and lean of the moving train, listening to something through earbuds, completely lost in a world of music deprived giggling admirers and the rhythmic noise of the subway.

Sousuke envies him for that. His own iPod lay forgotten on his lonely nightstand back at his apartment.

He wonders what he's listening to. Pop? Enka? A snort—_death metal_?

That's when he comes to realize: he doesn't know Tachibana at all. He knows Rin, probably better than Rin knows himself. He knows Kisumi Shigino, whether he wants to or not. He _thinks_ he knows—knew?—Haruka Nanase. But he doesn't know _him_. After nearly three months of weekly encounters, it ought to be a shame.

But, then, thinking about it, that's not entirely true. He knows some things. He knows Tachibana wears his glasses at work because it looks more professional than it is practical with all the steam there. He knows that he's right handed but prefers to pour with the left. He also knows that when Tachibana wipes down the surfaces inside Mintea, he hums—never sings—along with the radio's music and that it's a decidedly pleasant sound. But Sousuke's not about to record him or anything…

There's an announcement for the next stop. Roppongi. Sousuke holds his breath, listening to the screech of brakes on the tracks, watching Tachibana hold onto the overhead handle strap from the corner of his eye, wondering if he's going to stay or leave.

He doesn't disembark.

Several passenegers leave, twice as many board, crowding the car, the standees more or less packed in closer together with barely any elbow room between their bodies, and for the first time in his life, Sousuke curses his body's large size. He sticks out like a sore thumb.

"Yamazaki-kun?"

Tachibana's spotted him and something sparks to life in his eyes. Not surprise, not relief. Just something raw and in-between that makes something twist, hot and heavy, in Sousuke's gut.

"…hey."

Tachibana smiles, almost knowingly, and Sousuke thinks he may be smiling somewhat in return. It's not like how it was on that first Wednesday when Tachibana spotted him in the center of Mintea and they both stared at each other in stunned, unsure silence. It's nice.

Another announcement, this one for Kamiyacho, interrupts their muted exchange.

Then the smile disappears from Tachibana's eyes, just as it did weeks ago, when Sousuke had stayed behind and watched him leave work with a wistful look on his face. Is he headed to that same place now, he wonders.

The train comes to a stop. Sousuke tightens his hold on his bag's strap and watches, closely, as Tachibana moves to leave. The flap of his messenger bag isn't properly shut and a manila folder drops out of it to the floor but he doesn't seem to notice as he steps out onto the station platform.

Sousuke reacts without thinking, swiping up the fallen folder and its contents—some papers with charts and terms, labeled 'remedial'—and rushes out onto the platform just as the train's automatic doors slide shut behind him.

It's stupid. He could just hold onto it, wait until next Wednesday and give it to him then. But no. Rather, he's practically running up the subway stairs and chasing Tachibana down. All to return a dumb folder. What is even happening to him?

By the time they're up on street level, Sousuke easily catches up to him. Either he's gotten a lot faster or Tachibana moves slow. "Tachibana."

Tachibana turns, a surprised smile gracing his face. "Oh, Yamazaki-kun. Is this your stop too?"

It's not. Yet for some reason, Sousuke made it that. Curiosity, perhaps. Overinvested concern, most likely. He doesn't even know—he just hopes once he satisfies his curiosity, this nagging sentiment will fade away and his life and focus will all return to their status quo.

"You dropped this," he says, handing over the manila folder.

"Oh my goodness!" Face flushed with embarrassment, Tachibana stuffs the papers into his bag. "It's a good thing you found these! I need them for class—I don't know what I'd do without them!"

"Class?"

Tachibana stops midway between standing and stepping looking awkward, like a person that realized he's said too much too late. "Oh," he murmurs, "I'm attending Jikei."

Considering the stop, it's not surprising. The hour is unusual, though.

As if reading his mind, Tachibana smiles timidly. "Evening classes," he explains, "for grad school. That's where I'm headed."

Then that's where Sousuke's also headed.

"Hn," is all Sousuke offers up in acknowledgement when he falls into step besides him. They're pretty far from the station; it's pointless to turn back now. Tachibana doesn't seem to mind.

They walk close enough where Sousuke can see him. Really see him. Tachibana has an attractive profile, more handsome than cute—nose slender and without bumps, jaw strong but not sharp. His normally healthy skin is pale with winter, lips curved into a drowsy smile. Above the neck, Tachibana's soft and inviting.

Below…

Feeling the skin of his throat grow warm, Sousuke tears his gaze away, directs it on their feet as they walk.

"Is this out of the way for you?" Tachibana asks, like he already knows he and Sousuke have different destinations, but doesn't presume or ask where. Just like he is about everything. Sousuke likes that. It's refreshing.

"No," Sousuke replies. Technically, he's not lying: his stop is two over from this one. What's an extra one or two miles of walking?

They walk together some more. Tachibana doesn't say much, if anything at all. Perhaps he's used to lengthy bouts of silence—Sousuke recalls Nanase not being much of a conversationalist.

It's not awkward, this silence. It's actually kind of nice having to avoid small talk about the weather or how the local sports team of choice fared in the last game. In fact, Sousuke dares to think it's comfortable and something he can easily get used to. If he wants to.

They turn the corner onto a busy thoroughfare. Ahead, several students are beelining toward a white large building in the center of a complex of smaller, similar-looking ones. They're all hurrying, eager to be among the first to make it inside. Beside him, Tachibana slows down his pace, but Sousuke says nothing of it.

"Well, this is it. Thank you for returning my worksheets," Tachibana says as he slows to a stop outside the main entryway, his smile thinner than it usually is. "And thank you for walking me. I appreciate the company."

Sousuke shrugs, glances at some passing traffic. Nonchalant, or so he wants to believe. "It was on my way."

"Of course." Tachibana nods with a grin.

Sousuke shoots him a look. It's supposed to be menacing, or something like it, but even he can't stop the spread of his lips into a tiny smile. "Keep better tabs on your things. I can't follow you around to this neighborhood to return your things, you know."

Tachibana dimples. "Oh, so you _were_ following me, then. I thought you said this was on your way?"

Unable to help himself, Sousuke's smile grows into full-fledged one. "You're going to be late."

The smarmy look fades from Tachibana's face. "Oh, you're right!" He turns and hurries toward the building with the sign posted _School of Medicine_, throwing a wave. "Have a good night!"

Too late. "Good night."

* * *

The next day during training, the strangest thing happens.

Sousuke's climbing out of the pool after some sprints and rubbing gingerly at his shoulder with a grimace when one of the timekeepers, Coach Ichinomiya, remarks that not only has he somehow shaved off five full seconds from his average time—during the off-season, when times are expected to suffer—but that he also looks lighter.

Lighter? Sousuke frowns. Either his scale at home is broken or—

"Lighter," Ichinomiya says, gesturing vaguely towards him with a hand, "airy." A pause. "Happier."

Happier?

Later, when he's at home and icing his sore tendons, Sousuke's still thinking about Ichinomiya's words. Happier?

He bites into a delicious, misshapen tri-color cookie.

How absurd.

* * *

Any lightness and airiness he feels is gone the next Wednesday when Sousuke wanders through the chiming doors of Mintea. He's not sure what it is but right away he can tell something's changed.

His heart flutters in a panic when he hears only two voices greeting him with the customary _Irraishamase!_ When he sits in his spot, his drink comes to him later than it normally does.

But his server isn't Tachibana. It's the bubbly short girl with platinum blonde and cropped short today. Suniko is her name, he thinks, and he's convinced it's not her real name. Whatever it is, it doesn't matter.

"Where is he?" he asks, not bothering to care if he sounds at all demanding.

"Who?"

"…Makoto." It's the first time Sousuke's said his given name in years. It tastes sweet on his tongue. And strange. Too intimate.

Suniko shrugs a little, not even looking up at him as she sets his drink down on the table. A tiny bit of the pink liquid spills over the lip of the cup and she doesn't seem to notice or care. Sousuke peers down and sees a thick veil of cinnamon floating on the surface of his drink. Mako—_Tachibana_ would never let that happen.

"Oh, he called out today," Suniko says flippantly, tucking her tray beneath her arm.

That's it?

Despite Sousuke's frown of confusion, Suniko doesn't say any more beyond that, content with letting things linger there, before she's off to attend to something else in the shop. Sousuke almost considers following and hounding her for details but decides it's ultimately pointless: it's not his business why Tachibana called out from work or what he does in his spare time.

It shouldn't have any bearing on him. Sousuke's not here to see Tachibana—he's here for himself, to study and relax, regardless if a certain someone with kind eyes is working or not. He has several important exams coming up. He should focus on studying for those and not on the whereabouts of an employee.

Except, he can't. He tries at first, in vain. Over fifty practice questions on his worksheet and he can't concentrate on any of them—only on the picture of the Pantheon, peeking out from the pile of booklets and papers on his table. Flipping it over doesn't do him any favors because as soon as he settles down to list the Nine Muses and the Four Camenae and their attributes, he's staring glumly at the workspace behind the counter and not finding the tall, brown-haired and kind-eyed figure he's grown accustomed to seeing there.

It's not the same. Without Tachibana's presence there, Sousuke can't relax and focus. He curses himself for letting this happen.

Not five minutes later, Sousuke gathers his things and leaves the shop, his drink cold and untouched.

* * *

The next time Sousuke's down at the aquatic center, he swims his laps like an afterthought. His mind is on everything else and he ends up losing his stride on the last ten meters. Coach Ichinomiya stands at the poolside, arms folded, a deep-set frown over his aging features. What he tells Sousuke isn't a surprise.

His times are the worst they've been all season.

* * *

Skipping out on visits to his acupuncturist helps kill the temptation to stop by Mintea during the next few days. There's a tingly burn and stiffness in his shoulder because of it but he's convinced the pain is minor and worth it by the time Wednesday rolls around.

Sousuke isn't an optimistic person by nature, and with the way things have been going for him lately, he _shouldn't_ be—but even he can't help feeling a slight spring in his step when he walks up to Mintea's door. The aroma of tea leaves and coffee beans and freshly baked goods teases his nostrils before he can swing it ajar.

The door's halfway open when he can see plain as day, once again, that Tachibana isn't working. Only Suniko and the timid one whose name he doesn't know are inside, handling a flurry of orders from a group of rowdy college freshmen.

He doesn't bother going in this time.

Something's happening, and he doesn't know what it is. It's not until much later in the night, when Sousuke's in his bed, alone and staring at his blank ceiling while waiting for his painkillers to kick in, that the realization strikes him.

He misses him.

* * *

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